Page 135 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

Lucy watches him pour, then fixes me with her laser-focus gaze the moment he leaves. “Okay, spill. And I don’t mean the wine.”

“At least it’s not champagne!” I giggle nervously.

“Yes, you and champagne, a bad combination,” she agrees.

I take a generous gulp instead of a ladylike sip. The rich, earthy flavor barely registers as I try to find the right words.

“So, you know how you always said I should prepare an elevator pitch for my art career?” I stall.

“Ava.” Lucy’s voice carries that patented ‘cut the crap’ tone she’s perfected since our college days.

“Fine.” I exhale heavily. I glance around conspiratorially and lean in close. As in, my lips are almost touching her right ear close. I drop my voice to the lowest possible volume I think Lucy will be able to hear. “My marriage to Gideon is fake. It’s a business arrangement with an expiration date that’s coming up in less than thirty days.”

Lucy stiffens. I pull back, and watch her process my words, her expression cycling through confusion, disbelief, and settling finally on hurt.

“I’m sorry, what?” Her voice is unnaturally quiet.

I get up and slide in so I’m sitting beside her. Then I cup my hand around her ear and start whispering. The whole story tumbles out of me. Mark Blackwell’s takeover attempt, the trust arrangement, the contract with its neat little “no emotional involvement” clause, the settlement payment. Whispered words pour out like paint from a tipped-over can, impossible to contain once started.

Lucy sits in stunned silence, occasionally taking mechanical sips of wine. I whisper until my mouth is dry, pausing only to rehydrate with Pinot Noir.

“So all this time,” she finally says, her voice tight, “the whirlwind romance, the loving glances, the perfect couple act. You’re telling me—”

I cut her off by raising a finger to my lips. “Shh…” I look around nervously. No one is watching. Everyone else is having conversations in their own little worlds.

She lowers her voice to a whisper. “You’re telling me it was all fake?”

My chest tightens. “That’s the problem,” I whisper back, my voice cracking embarrassingly. “It started that, but somewhere along the way, at least for me, it became real.”

Lucy places her glass down with deliberate care. She grabs my arm, drags me to the lady’s room, and after checking that all the stalls are empty, she lights into me. “Let me get this straight. You entered a fraudulent marriage—”

“Shhh!” I tell her, feeling uncomfortable talking about it aloud even in an empty restroom.

Lucy sighs, then continues softly. “You got married to help a billionaire keep control of his company, and then you fell in love with him for real, despite a contract explicitly forbidding that very thing?”

Put that way, it sounds absolutely ridiculous. I feel my face burning hotter.

“Yes?” I squeak.

“And you didn’t tellme because...?”

“I... was ashamed. Embarrassed. I thought you’d think less of me.”

She studies me a moment. “Ava, I’d never think less of you. You’re my best friend. Why did it take you so long to come to me?”

I drop my gaze. “I guess, well, when I began to develop feelings for him, it made it even harder to come to you. I was afraid that saying it aloud would make those feelings impossible to deny. While they were still in my head and my head alone, I thought I could keep it professional, separate business from emotion. Like he does. I was wrong.”

Lucy’s hurt expression softens slightly.

“You know what the worst part is?” she says.

Here it comes. The ‘Lucy Hammond vote of no confidence’ speech.

“I’m not even surprised that you fell for him,” she continues, stunning me. “What I am surprised about is that you thought you could handle something like this without getting hurt.”

“I didn’t think—”

“Exactly,” she interrupts. “You didn’t think. You, Ava Redwood, who once cried during a commercial for paper towels because ‘the little girl looked so happy cleaning up the spill with herdad.’ You, who pours your entire heart into every canvas you create. You thought you could fake being in love without the real thing sneaking in?”

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